Willing Complication 07: He Should Never Have
by moor
Summary: Shuurei x Seiran. He would never trust his Ojou-sama's 'good intentions' again. Originally written for the saiun challenge Week 74 prompt, "Awakening"…


**[Week 74] [Word count: 800-ish] [Prompt: Awakening]**

**TITLE:** He should never have…  
**AUTHOR:** beyondthemoor on LJ  
**RATING:** E for everyone…  
**GENRE:** romance, fluff  
**WARNINGS:** - fanserve-ee? Cliché? XD  
**AU/CANON:** Canon  
**CHARACTERS:** Shuurei, Seiran  
**WORD COUNT:** Approx. 800 words...ish (I'm about 200-300 over the challenge limit. Again. Word-count fail = me!)  
**SUMMARY:** He would never trust his Ojou-sama's 'good intentions' again. (Originally written for the saiun_challenge Week 74 prompt, "Awakening"… but since I fail at the notion of word-counts, I thought I'd post it to the saiunkoku_fic comm instead. ;) I finally remembered to post it to this site, too!)  
**PROMPT: **Awakening

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_He should never have:_

Rolling his shoulder as much as he dared, Seiran stared determinedly ahead.

He should never have let Ojou-sama convince him they needed to clear the far-rear courtyard on such a sweltering, humid day, the garden they rarely visited, let alone used. When had they last used it, he wondered vaguely; was it years ago? When her mother had still been with them? When Ojou-sama had been knee-high to a grasshopper? He blinked at the memories before discarding the concern. He had bigger problems.

(in… out… in… out…)

No, he continued the internal chastisement. He should never have let Ojou-sama assure him, later when they'd been puffing from exhaustion after dragging a particularly stubborn tree stump away from a wall that had collapsed under its weight, that sure there was time to run into the market district to grab more groceries. They didn't need groceries--they had plenty of food in the house. He could have picked a few extra vegetables from the almost-far-rear garden they had passed through on their way back from--

His brow knit in consternation. No, that wasn't the real issue, either.

(in… out… in… out…)

Taking a shallow breath, he focused again.

No, he needed to strengthen his resolve if he would persevere in this awkward situation.

He never should have let his Ojou-sama cajole him into leaving 'the rest of the dishes' to her to do while he 'rested' because he looked tired.

He would never, ever leave her alone again, he decided with such conviction he felt his jaw clench, ever so slightly.  
(in… out…)

Relaxing his teeth and breathing lightly, he closed his eyes a moment again, and licked his now-dry lips.

It had been hours since he'd had a drink of water. His marine-coloured eyes fixed on a small--well, perhaps more than small, perhaps rather large, if he was being honest--crack in the wall across from him. He would repair that crack as soon as he could.

When he got up.

A tiny puff of breath on his earlobe sent another almost imperceptible shiver down his spine. Rhythmically, in and out, the breathing continued. Softly, just enough to stir the faintest of hair that slipped from the loose topknot he tied each morning when he woke.

Oh, he was going to fix everything...

(another small breath against his sensitive skin, another minute tightening in his chest, his throat, his lower body)

... later.

No, he would never trust his Ojou-sama again: not after she'd apparently decided that since he had chosen to nod off, sitting on the worn stone kitchen floor and leaning against the wall that faced her while she worked, watching her as his eyes drooped shut, that she would oh so casually do the same...

... right alongside him... once she'd finished her chores.

No, he would never forgive her for this.

Not for the way she'd slumped into his tired, sore shoulder. Even if he would always welcome her by his side.

Not for the way her pale, slender arm had crossed over his middle in her slumber. Like she wanted to hold him in her embrace.

Not for the way she smelled, despite all the hard work, still like the wonderful, perfect woman she was. Because to him, she was everything.

Least of all for the way she made him feel.

Thanking the stars that her father was away until late evening at the archives, Seiran let his tousled head fall quietly back against the wall behind him (again). He had to escape that breathing, that almost intangible expression of trust that taunted him.

His Ojou-sama would wake sooner or later.

He glanced down at her sleep-pinked features, her slightly open mouth, the way her eyelashes cast midnight-black crescents on her delicate cheeks.

Shifting minutely to try and make his backside more comfortable, Seiran swallowed a yawn and ever so slowly reached a strong hand that had somehow settled around Shuurei protectively, up to sweep a few dark, loosened locks of hair away from her face.

The tickling against her skin rousing her slightly, the petite young woman's eyelashes fluttered a moment with her quick intake of breath--stilling Seiran's movement--before she settled against him again more snugly with a breathy, content sigh. Her hand now lay over his heart.

No, Seiran decided again as he brought her closer, closer, close enough to reach his other arm under her legs to slide her across his lap so she lay more comfortably, for both of them.

No, he would never trust her again.

... when she awoke.

But until then...

(he felt the small, content smile that only graced his features in her presence steal across his expression, the softening of the tension in his entire body that always followed)

... until then, this wasn't entirely unpleasant.

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**R&R?**

(ALSO, as with all my FANFICS, I do not own this series and make no profit from this.)


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